Clothilde sank into the faded red booth and stretched her weary legs. As she looked around the room it occurred to her that she might be mistaken but Jean-Claude was very specific – this was the place. She ran her fingers along the gingham tablecloth, the ends poking out from beneath a clear plastic coversheet. A waitress wearing a matching gingham apron soon appeared, wielding a notepad and pen like an army officer called to attention.
‘Welcome to Pie in the Sky, my name’s Melanie,’ she said. ‘What can I get you ma’am?’
‘I’d like to start backwards if I may, with a latte and a slice of your apple pie.’
‘Which apple pie?’ Melanie asked, an eager smile stenciled onto her face.
‘Er, I was told to simply order your apple pie.’
‘Ma’am have you taken a look at our menu?’ Clothilde could not detect a hint of sarcasm in the waitress’s voice. ‘We serve more than 100 different pies and we have at least 10 different varieties of apple pie. We have apple and cinnamon, apple and pear, apple and blackcurrant, apple and blackberry, apple and blueberry. We have savoury pies like pork and apple, chicken and apple. Then we have our specials.’
A bemused Clothilde took a closer look at the menu.
‘OK, I’ll try the apple and pear’.
‘I’m afraid we’re out. Care to try something else?’
‘What about the apple and blueberry?’
‘Sorry, we’re out of that as well.'
Clothilde was mildly irritated.
‘Why don’t you suggest one that I can try?
Melanie cocked her head upwards, deep in thought. ‘How about apple and gooseberry?’
‘Ok, I’ll take that.’ Clothilde felt victorious. As Melanie skipped away, she brought out her own notebook and pen. On the cover was a picture of a man made of rubber tyres. Inside she wrote – I must get my own back on Jean-Claude.